


La Petite Morte

by Anonymous



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Character Study, Focuses on emotion more than the sex itself., M/M, Not Beta Read, Rope Bondage, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27256459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Are you saying you're gonna bring me back from the dead?"Shinguji lets out a laugh between his teeth, "Perhaps that's what I am implying, but whether or not I do will be decided by you in the end."
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39
Collections: Anonymous





	La Petite Morte

"Well, of course, there's a certain method to these things. I am.. rather skilled with only a certain method. There are types that do not restrain if that would be more... comforting."  
  
Amami looks on at the rope coiling around Shinguji's hand like a snake.  
  
"Of course, it's only if you'd like to try it. This can be overwhelming to some, I understand. It's not a necessary addition." Korekiyo fiddles with the finely woven hairs of pitch-black rope in his hands, twisting at the twine and finely woven hairs. His finely manicured nails ensure not to fray them. Amami's certain that would cause some kind of issue, he's worked with enough boats to know frayed or damaged rope can be an issue, "It is important for me to have your consent for this."  
  
"I'd be up to try it," he says.  
  
Amami leans in and mutters into his ear, "I assume you'll be on top this time?"  
  
"Yes, that would be simplest for this."  
  
Shinguji's hands run up his body, bare skin against bandaged hands, the rough texture sending shivers through his spine. The pair of hands reach for the buttons keeping his shirt together, slowly prying them apart as the fabric runs down his side like streams of water, down Shunguji's lithe frame.  
  
  
"Now, tell me Rantaro, if you would allow me to call you that," he trails off for a moment. They've been calling each other by first names for ages now, but Shinguji always needs permission, "Have you ever tried rope bondage?"  
  
  
Amami is not a virgin by any standard. Before Shunguji, he had sex with a couple of other people, his experiences varying from eye-opening and passionate to absolutely awful, awkward and clumsy, but it gave him something to laugh about later. Both of those experiences had been rather vanilla, simple sex. Nothing fancy. Just sheets and hot breath. Amami wouldn't call these encounters shallow, he avoided shallow sex, there was emotion in them. Maybe just displaced.  
  
"No, first time." He explains.  
  
"We'll start with something more simple then. Does something binding your chest sound agreeable to you?"  
  
"Yeah, that's good with me."

Amami grabs the edges of his shirt, pulling it  
  
"It would be ideal if you sat up while I tied you," Shinguji begins doubling up the rope, and there's more than Amami would have suspected at first. Pitch black cord. Amami nods, sitting up, and Shinguji wastes no time getting to work, staring at the rope, holding the looped end near his mid-back and stringing the rest of the rope through. There's a small tug at his ribs.  
  
"Comfortable?" Shinguji asks.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The rope rests on the right side of his back and is brought up over his shoulder, and he watches him go through the motions. There's a steady tempo. Under, over, under, over. It reminds him of the metronome that would incessantly tick when he was in elementary, still trying to test his musical talents. He had none.  
  
Shinguji is like an artist here, painting a beautiful piece from just black cord and tanned skin, finely weaving it together with careful hands and precision. He doesn't tug too roughly or wrap too harshly.  
  
Maybe a weaver would be a better word then. Creating a tapestry of his own vision. Does he see this more as an art? Amami wouldn't doubt it. Or does he see it as he does, or at least how he imagines it? The lightheadedness, the trust, being able to let go for a little bit and let someone else take the reigns for once. It appeals to him. Though Amami does steer towards topping most of the time, he enjoys the trust given to him and being able to please his partner in that way, it's nice to lay back and just take it sometimes.  
  
Every piece of rope moved and tightened around his body is just Shinguji's grip around him. He lifts up his arm, bringing the rope just above his chest, thin hands handling it in a practiced fashion. How many times has he done this?  
  
"While I am tying you, I believe it is important to go over a few things," The cord is brought back around to his back, brought under the first tie of rope and back under the same arm, then over his shoulder, "It is essential you're aware that you may back out of this at any time, including right now. Just tell me, and I will stop, and if you do not wish to go through the process of being untied or if anything occurs, I can cut you out of the ropes."  
  
The rope still moves around Amami, but he's more focused on how close Shinguji is to his neck at the moment, the sound of his voice and the words it says, and his hot breath on his skin. He could get lost in the simple sensation, and he lightly closes his eyes. He feels tight in his pants. The anticipation is coming close to killing him, but he's trying to take care and listen despite being incredibly horny at the moment. He nods.  
  
"Would you like a safeword?" His rope work ceases for a moment before he moves from being in front of Amami to being right behind him.  
  
"Sakura."  
It's the first word that came to mind. Shinguji nods, returning to his careful work on Amami's back.  
  
"I should have taken care to tell you this earlier, preferably before you were tied, but this may leave a few marks as well. Is that alright with you?"  
  
"Yeah, I can cover them up."  
  
Amami despises wearing turtlenecks or high collared shirts, preferring wider cut collars, but he has no issue wearing them for a week if there's bruising. It's not as if he wouldn't be wearing them with normal sex as well, hickies were often passed between the two of them, enjoying being on the receiving and gifting end, the both of them that is. The rope is finally strung through the same area quite a few times before Shinguji's hands come to a still and part from his body.  
  
He'd give up wide-cut collars for him. Just for a week or two.  
  
It's hard to tell when he loses himself in feeling. Whether it be when Shinguji's hands slid downward or when sweet nothings started escaping his lips, or when his chest heaved for the third, fourth, second time. He doesn't need to think. He isn't thinking. Or he thought too much about this beforehand, on whether or not he's dirty for entertaining an idea. Letting these moments linger through his head long after they're done.

He doesn't know when his pants came off. He doesn't know when his skin was bore for the fluorescent lights above to see the freckles that paint his body dancing with scars like stars. He doesn't need to know, he just needs to feel right now. Feel like the world around him is air.

He's grounded for a moment when he catches his breath in a coil, tightening around his neck like a rattlesnake.   
  
"You still there, Kiyo?" Amami asks, coiling an arm around the back of his lover's neck. That's right, they're lovers. They're together. They go on dates. They smile at each other from across empty rooms, or at least Amami thinks Shinguji does. They share a bed. They make love. They _fuck._ Whatever it is that they wanted to call it.  
  
  
Shinguji blinks, taking his hands off the ropes for a moment. He stills and blankly stares for a moment.  
  
  
"Are you familiar with the term, _La petite morte?"  
  
  
_"Hah... Little death, right?" His voice is broken and shaky, but he's smiling through it. He's close. So close. Why did he have to stop now? Why is he being kept on the edge like this?  
  
"That is correct. It is a French term, Little Death. It refers to the 'black-out' moment one experiences post-orgasm. You stop thinking, it's as if you've died and been reborn afterwards, risen from the grave."  
  


If that's what it fully means, Amami has died already. He's been dead a long time now, he's been reborn more times than he can count.

"Are you saying you're gonna bring me back from the dead?"  
  
Shinguji lets out a laugh between his teeth, "Perhaps that's what I am implying, but whether or not I do will be decided by you in the end."  
  
Amami knows he'd trust Shinguji with his life at this point. He knows little about him, trust does not come easy after all, but it comes naturally to him when he's here, back pressed against silken sheets. He's pushed into them again, and the relief crashes over him like a great tidal wave.   
  
And his vision goes white like the foam that grazes the shore after the waves come in.  
  
He's staring at the ceiling and it feels like it's spinning, and laughter bubbles up in his stomach. He takes a deep breath in, ropes tensing against his chest. They become looser and looser, falling like sakura petals in the springtime after their full bloom. He lets himself fall into a familiar shoulder, head buried in the crook.  
  
"Call me a risen man, Kiyo."

**Author's Note:**

> \- Ypres.


End file.
